


Harry Styles Blurb Collection

by stylesharrys



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: All the cute stuff, Angst, Collection of mini fics, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Styles - Freeform, blurbs, harry is babey, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesharrys/pseuds/stylesharrys
Summary: A collection of Harry Styles blurbs from my Tumblr @ fallinharry
Relationships: Harry Styles/Reader, Harry Styles/You
Kudos: 81





	1. Harry gets you to paint his nails.

You were both snuggled on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table and blanket draped over your legs. Your Valentine’s Day plans of doing absolutely nothing had been completely successful and you were ending the day with The Notebook, a Chinese, and a little pamper sesh.

A pink clay mask had been smeared across both of your faces and while Noah and Allie were arguing over _what she wants_ , you were indecisively trying to decide what shade of green to paint your nails. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek wasn’t helping and noticing the crease set between your brows, Harry hummed from beside you and picked the brighter shade.

“This one, ‘s brighter,” he picked it from your hand and squinted his eyes to read the colour printed on the lid. To be fair, you weren’t too sure if it even was a green shade—you’d picked it blindly and the living room was barely lit by the TV and the orange glow of a few candles scattered around the room.

You hummed and picked it back from his hand, unscrewing the lid, when Harry spread his fingers and rested both his ringed hands in your lap, cheeky grin on his lips and you huffed out a laugh. “If I’m painting your nails, you can paint mine,” you told him through a smile.

Harry watched you paint a coat on his index finger and nodded his head. “Sounds fair t’ me,” he rumbled cheekily. Each nail you painted, Harry playfully wiggled his fingers which resulted in polish on his knuckles and a laugh tumbling from your throat, a sound he loved to no end.

You’d left the ring fingers clear and fumbled through your little polish bag until you found a black one and coated the remaining nails. Harry had a chipper smile on his face as he admired his nails, stretching his hands in front of him and tilting his head playfully.

He reached over to kiss your cheek, small stumble scratching at your skin but you didn’t mind. “Can ya paint mine now,” you asked and set your hands in his lap like he had to you. Harry blew on his fingers for a few seconds before skilfully reaching for the polish and awkwardly painted your nails to not ruin his damp ones.

It was a given that they didn’t turn out as great as his did. Green polish had managed to somehow creep up your elbow and he’d smudged the black one on your ring finger, but you liked them. “Now we’re turning into those couples that wear the same outfits and stuff,” you joke and Harry stifles a laugh.

“Don’t think you could pull off my style, t’ be honest with ye’, love,” he kissed his teeth in a teasing manner and your head rolled back in laughter as you nodded. “Definitely could _not_ pull off your style, babe,” you agreed with a cheesy grin, reaching up to kiss his lips. It was soft and tender, everything he was and you hummed into it.

Harry pulled back and pecked your nose before standing from the sofa and wandering to the kitchen to get you both a refil. You waited patiently, snuggled cosy and warm. But Harry disrupted the silence all too quickly. “Oh… fuck sake!” You heard him yell through a sigh. You say up on the sofa, brows furrowed.

“You okay? H?” You called out, ready to follow him but the footsteps toward you grew louder and Harry stood in the door way, sulking pout on his lips with brows furrowed and he lifted his hand and flipped you off, pointing at his middle finger.

“‘ve chipped m’ bloody nail.”


	2. Harry did a number on you and showers you with aftercare.

You weren’t sure how long you were out of it for. One minute you remember having the most intense orgasm of your 23 years of life, and the second you were stirring in the bed to a raw throbbing between your thighs. In reality, you had only blacked out for a few seconds, but to you it had felt like a half an hour.

“Harry,” you whimpered breathlessly, body completely spent and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit up even if you tried. You hadn’t seen each other for a few days as he had travelled to Malibu to do some spontaneous recording, but tonight he had his way with you at _least_ four times, which meant at _least_ four orgasms but you were certain you blacked out after the sixth or seventh.

Your vision was blurry and your body was covered in sheen layers of sweat but you had never felt more blissful. From your distorted gaze on the bathroom door, you saw his figure emerge from the light and slowly stalk toward the bed. You couldn’t make out what he had in his hand but when something cool and wet lathered at your swollen core, you guessed it was a flannel to clean you up.

“Did so well f’ me, doll,” Harry told you in a gentle whisper, a pleased grin lazily sliding across your lips and you let out a soft bark of a laugh. “Can’t fucking feel m’ legs, H.” A cocky smirk tugged at the corners of his lips but you didn’t see it as he continued to clean up your thighs and abdomen, that he had so selflessly painted with his cum.

“Means I did a good job then, don’t y’ think?” He asked cockily, leaning down to capture your swollen lips in his and you hummed against the kiss, melting into his touch. Harry pulled back and brushed your hair from your face, kissing your forehead softly and stroking your temple.

“Think y’ can walk to the bathroom or d’you need me t’ carry ye?” He teased softly, nosing at your hairline. You huffed out an exhausted laugh and clung to his bicep. In your post-orgasm daze, Harry had sat on the bed, just by the headboard and had pulled you up just enough so your back rested against his tattooed chest and had an arm swung over your shoulder and down your torso.

“Gonna have to carry me, H,” you mumbled, your legs numb as you tried to move them and when he chuckled darkly in your ear, that familiar tingle resurfaced between your thighs. You whimpered. “Definetly gonna have to carry me.”


	3. You're sick and try to push Harry away, but he's determined to look after you.

Maybe it was your own fault, your grandmother always did say one day your kindness would come back and bite you in the ass. But you weren’t exactly _trying_ to be kind, only helpful to a friend in need. But two days after watching her snotty-nosed son was definitely a mistake.

Now you were bunged up in bed. They always said sickness hits worse at night but this slammed you like an oil truck. A pounding headache, a snotty nose, streaming eyes, raw throat. You were the poster model of the beginning of a head cold.

You’d been in bed for 20 minutes already, tired of waiting downstairs for Harry to get back from drinks with the boys. You never promised you’d wait up but by your current state, you supposed you’d likely still be awake long after he got home.

Maybe laying in your bed wasn’t the best idea. You knew he had studio days lined up and you were not about to let him catch your cold by sharing the bed with you.

**_Sleeping in spare room, full of a cold and don’t wanna give it to you. Have fun, stay safe. Love u xxx_ **

You dragged your phone and blanket to the spare room, not bothering to switch the lights on but jumping straight into the bed, groaning at the sensation of your head fluttering when it hit the pillow. You were beyond tired, passed the point of it and nearing exhaustion but you couldn’t bloody sleep.

Half an hour passed of tossing and turning, cold sweats and hot ones. One leg was under the covers and the other was on top but you were barely considering it a happy medium. And by the time you were finally drifting off, it’d been an hour and Harry was strolling home, trying to ever so quietly close the front door without making too much noise—and you almost didn’t hear him coming home, until he tripped up the stairs and yelped an ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ and you were groaning awake again.

The bedroom door creaked open and the light from the hallway filtered into the room, only just illuminating your hunched body under the blankets but Harry saw your little red-painted toenails. “You alrigh’, love?” His voice was low as he sauntered to the bed, sitting at the foot of it. Harry reached for your thigh, hand comfortingly rubbing up and down the side of it as you coddled into the middle of the bed.

You groaned in response, head splitting with pain and the bunch of meds you took just forty minutes ago were absolutely not helping. Harry heard your sniffles and tutted to himself, leaning across the bed and holding his head up in the palm of his hand, elbow bent and resting on the sheets.

“You take any pain relief?” he asked slowly, hand running down your legs to run soothing circles on your ankle. You hummed again through a groan and turned slowly to lay on your back. You had a double chin and matted hair as you twisted to look at him at the end of the bed and your nose was bright red, but Harry still smiled at you like you were the most gorgeous creature in the world.

“Wha’s happened? Thought yeh were feelin’ alrigh’ before I left?” he asked softly, voice barely over a whisper and you were so damn thankful for it. You shrugged your shoulders lazily and huffed, nose blocked and ears muffled. You suddenly felt like you took for granted all those times you used to be able to breathe out of your nose.

Harry pouts at you in the darkness and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your ankle. “‘M gonna get you a hot water bottle and some honey lemon tea f’ your throat, love.” You didn’t say anything else as he kissed your ankle again and left the room. You almost fell back into a light slumber when he began pottering around downstairs in the kitchen. 

He was wandering back up the stairs as your eyes fluttered open and he pushed the door slightly closed behind him. Harry had the hot water bottle tucked under his arm, one hand carrying a mug of honey lemon tea and the other with some more pain relief for later in the night and a little blue pot of Vicks.

“Sit up f’ me, love,” he coaxed gently, setting the tea on the nightstand and helping you prop up the pillow just enough so you could sit up a little better. Harry climbed in beside you, throwing the covers over his lap and he pulled you into his side, arm around your shoulder. 

You didn’t argue with him or push him away. Instead, you let him unbutton your (his) shirt and dollop a bit of Vicks on your chest, his slender fingers rubbing the clear cream in and you hummed sleepily, curling closer into his side. 

“Should help yeh to breathe a bit better, babe,” he kissed the top of your head and wiped his fingers over your collarbone. You inhaled a deep breath, a rattling sound ricocheting in your chest and Harry pouted at the sound of you. 

He wrapped the hot water bottle in a thin blanket and lifted the duvet, sliding it over your stomach and putting the covers back over you. Harry got comfortable by your side and shuffled deeper into the bed, still holding you close as you let out a groan of protest. 

“H, no… you’ve got studio, can’t be getting sick,” your muffled voice spoke and he shook his head as he kissed your temple and held you tighter. “Jus’ go t’ sleep and let me take care of yeh,” he whispered back, voice gravelly and deep. You huffed something incoherent but sleep got the better of you and midway through your futile rant, you were out like a light in Harry’s arms.


	4. You both finally tell each other those three words.

Harry had known for a long time that he had fallen in love with you. He couldn’t remember if he realised it that night when you told him you spent your day off having lunch with his mum, or the time you cleaned his home and prepared his favourite meal when he came back from tour. Or maybe even it was the time when you dislocated your knee at work and still surprised him at his show in St Paul and went hard side-stage to Medicine.

He’s known for a long time that the swelling in his chest and warmth in his bones is more than just a deep infatuation, knows that there’s a reason he finds you most beautiful when there’s nothing covering your blemished skin and unbrushed hair. 

While he’s always been one to live in the moment, he hasn’t found the right time to tell you how he feels. He tried last week, when you were snuggling in bed, was about to tell you but work called you and asked you to cover a night shift. He tried again the next morning when you called on your way home, but your phone died the second he was about to confess. Then again, last night, when you were cooking dinner together dancing around, but the fire alarm cut him off.

He’s sick of waiting for the right time, too desperate to make sure you know how he feels. You’ve been together for seven months now and he’s certain you feel the same. But even if you don’t, he’ll be okay, he just needs you to know he does. 

You’ve just showered together; giddy smiles and melodic giggles. You’ve got a towel wrapped loosely around your body but Harry stands bare in front of you. He hasn’t done his laundry in a while and offered you his only clean towel. You’re chest to chest as he brushes your knotted hair with his fingers and you’re gazing up at him with so much love and adoration you’re sure you’re going to burst. 

His own hair is sticking to his forehead, wet and curled. You reach up for it, pushing his fringe back into a small ponytail and securing it with the scrunchie on your wrist. He’s brushing down your spiked eyebrows when you squish his cheeks in the palms of your hands and push up to kiss his pink lips. 

It’s when you pull away from him that you finally do it. “I love you,” you admit, voice steady and eyes crystal clear. Your hands are still cupping his cheeks and his hold on your face falters and the smile slips from his lips. Doubt begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach, insecure that you’ve just admitted something so strong and he may not even feel it back. 

“Yeh bloody ruined it,” he mumbles, hands reaching back up to your face to squish your cheeks as you did his. “I was supposed to say tha’ first. Been tryin’ t’ tell yeh that I’m in love with ye fo’ the past week!” you don’t let his smile get any bigger before you’re lunging closer and smashing your lips against his.

Harry’s tugging off your towel as he wraps his arms around your middle and hoists you into him; your legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel every inch of each other.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you both mutter between kisses, sweet giggles quick to follow as he throws you onto the bed, crawling between your parted thighs and brushing his nose against yours. 

“Gonna love on yeh all fucking night,” he promises.


	5. You're in love with Harry but your self-doubt won't believe he's in love with you.

She’s always been very doubtful within their relationship. She doesn’t doubt her love for him, but she doubts his love for her. He’s never given her reason to, never once initiated the thought of him not loving her as hard as he does. She just doesn’t believe it.

She knows it stems back to her mid-teenage years, when her self-worth was little to non-existent and how she began to doubt everyone’s positive feelings toward her. It’s something that’s followed her into early adulthood and she thought things would be easier by now.

She knows deep down that he _does_ love her, she just tells herself some nights that he only loves their relationship or that he only loves her as a friend. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been together for almost four years, she still struggles to believe it.

Like she doesn’t know _why_ he’s stayed with her for these four years, when the entire world knows he could have _anyone_ he wants… and she’s supposed to believe that out of the endless souls out there, he wants hers?

She also doesn’t know _why_ he claims he loves her. She’s nothing special, so she thinks. She’s not a 5’10 with a skinny frame and a gorgeous face. She’s 5’5 with a tubby little belly and traces of acne that still grace the skin of her face. She’s got dips in her hips and her thighs jiggle when she walks. She has no eyebrows when she wipes the makeup off them in the evenings and she almost always has a constant little double chin.

She doesn’t understand what there is to love about her. Sure, she has a good sense of humour and is always unbelievably kind, but that’s about it. Okay, so she’s good at puzzles and has a decent fashion sense. But her two front teeth are slightly crooked and she hasn’t got a smooth slope in down the bridge of her nose.

Nothing about her _physically_ is worth loving. It’s what she tells herself whenever she passes a mirror, with or without makeup on. It’s what she repeats when she’s stepping out of the shower and she can only just see her toes wiggle beneath the small pouch on her lower stomach.

It’s what her mind screams when she poses in the mirror and notices the cellulite and stretch marks across her thighs and ass. She hates herself, every damn inch of her ugly body. She hates it.

And she looks at Harry and the feeling of self-loathing only intensifies. To her, he’s fucking perfect. He’s tall and lean and muscular in all the right places. He’s got a pretty head of hair and gorgeously captivating eyes. His smile is the brightest thing she’s ever seen and she cannot fault his being at all.

Emotionally, he’s just as incredible. He’s open and honest and raw and he loves unconditionally. She knows he loves her, but she can’t let herself believe it. There’s no way someone like him could truly love someone like her so wholly.

But he does. And he has. Every day for the last four years, he’s shown her unconditional love. But she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Through every small argument, she waits for the degrading words she thinks he wants to scream. Through every small bump in the road, she waits for him to tell her that he can do so much better. Through every comment a nasty fan leaves, she waits for him to agree and tell her they’re done. She waits and waits and waits for the day he leaves.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he loves her harder. Showers her with adoration and affection. Tonight, however, she can’t stop thinking that he’s extra loving because tomorrow morning he won’t be there when she wakes up. Can’t help but this he’s going to realise what a mess she is.

His footsteps into the bathroom break her from her train of thought and she curls into herself under the shower. “Yeh nearly done, babe? Want some cuddles,” he murmurs from behind the other side of the shower curtain.

She squeaks a hum, rinsing her hair and turning off the water. She feels sick. He’s seen her fresh out of the shower plenty of times, but tonight she really doesn’t want him to see her blemished face and matted hair, or her soaked body.

He pulls the shower curtain open before she can think of anything to say and he smiles widely at her, his eyes racking down her body and she feels uncomfortable. Like he’s judging her, even though he looks at her like she’s phenomenal.

Tears quickly sting her eyes and she snatches the towel off the rack and wraps it around her body. She hates feeling so uncomfortable under his gaze, which is almost all of the time. It’s very rare that she feels content when she’s under him or on top of him.

He notices the tension in her body but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches her brush her (crooked) teeth and tame her (matted) hair before she dresses her (ugly) body in a shirt of his and a pair of shorts. She doesn’t want to look at herself in the mirror anymore, so she blindly applies her moisturiser and makes her way back into the bedroom.

She’s sad.

Even when she’s with him and he’s making her laugh and loving her up, she’s sad. She knows she needs help, that she needs to get this self-hatred thing under control but she doesn’t have the energy for it. Hasn’t done since she first started feeling this way all those years ago.

“Love?” Harry calls softly as she crawls into bed.

He’s noticed, in the last two years, how she is. How she doesn’t grow shy when he looks at her, but uncomfortable. He’s noticed that she doesn’t much like him touching her but he also knows how much she actually craves it.

He’s noticed that she doesn’t think she’s worthy of his love, and it breaks his heart. He doesn’t understand why she can’t see that he loves her with his entire soul. Can’t comprehend how she doesn’t love herself the same way. 

Her hum brings him to the bed and he lays beside her, his nose bumping hers and she tries to back away but his hand snakes its way to the small of her back and he keeps her in place. “I love you,” he tells her carefully, words even and slow in hopes she’ll take it in. 

But he feels her stiffen and he knows tears are welling in her eyes. “I love you,” she replies the same way she always has. She’s never said _I love you, **too**_ because she’s never believed he truly loves her. Harry shakes his head and his hand leaves her back and reaches for her cheek.

“No, Y/N… I’m in love with yeh, like proper in love. Yer the first thing I think of when I wake up in the mornings, and the last thing I think of when I fall asleep. You’re always on my mind and I wanna spend the rest of m’ life with you.”

The speech is nothing new, she’s heard renditions of it throughout their whole relationship, and she wants to be thankful, but it makes her tummy heart and she feels the heartache in her fingertips. She expects him to stop there and kiss her on the forehead before they settle to sleep, but he doesn’t. 

“When I think about yeh, I get this little smile on m’ face and a tingle in m’ tummy. Or when I hear someone say yeh name, I feel proud, y’ know? I feel like a sense of warmth, ‘cause yer mine, yeh m’ girl. And when I hear yeh laugh at something, it makes m’ whole day ten times better, especially when yeh laughing at summat I said. And did yeh know how pretty yeh look when yer invested in summat? Like yeh gorgeous anyway, but fuck… when yeh watching summat or listening to what someone’s sayin’ and yeh interested in it… yeh nose scrunches up a bit and yer eyes ‘ave this little sparkle… babe, I wish yeh could see it. Everythin’ about yeh jus’ fuckin’ kills me. I love you so damn much, I feel it in m’ fuckin’ fingertips when I know yer upset. Like now…”

It’s silent between them as she takes in the words he’s just admitted. He’s always been open and raw with her, but never shared the tiny little details that could have made all the difference years ago. 

“Know yeh hurting, love, an’ it kills me. Hurts ‘cause yeh won’t let me in, won’t let me take the pain away. Won’t believe me when I tell yeh I’d take a fuckin’ bullet for yeh,” he breathes, tears in his eyes. 

She shakes her head with a sniffle. “Harry,” she whines under her breath, pulling away but he keeps her close. “I just –– I just don’t understand.”

“Wha’, babe? Wha’ is it yeh don’t understand? Gotta tell me so I can fix it,” he desperately begs. 

Her heart thumps sporadically in her chest like she’s on an adrenaline high and she supposes she is. It’s now or never. “Don’t understand why, when you can have anything in the entire world, you choose to settle for this,” she doesn’t need to gesture to herself for him to know what she means, “instead of someone incredible.”

She doesn’t have time to break into a sob because he’s crashing his lips into hers and pouring out every ounce of love and emotion he can. When he pulls away, he’s gripping her hand and pulling it up to sit above his frantic heart. “Think yeh pretty incredible if yeh can do this t’ me,” he whispers through tears. 

“Gorgeous, yeh gotta believe me when I tell yeh that yer all I wan’. Yeh so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, staring at her blotchy face from tears and she shakes her head in the palms of his hands. “No, yeh are! I want a family of pretty little babies with yeh, and I wanna see yeh walk down the aisle t’ me, make everyone jealous that I get t’ marry yeh, get t’ spend the rest of m’ life with yeh. I want yeh to love yourself, and I’ll help yeh get help, baby… but yeh gotta promise me that you’ll try, that you’ll let yourself receive the help.”

She spends the rest of the night crying in his arms until she falls asleep. She isn’t awake when he spends hours googling pretty engagement rings, nor when he texts his Mum to ask for some advice. But when she wakes the next morning with a slight weight off her chest and a sleepy boyfriend already gazing lovingly down at her, she tells herself she can do this. 

She can learn to self-love. 


	6. Harry walks in on Y/N doing something he isn't supposed to see.

He thinks he’s walked in on something saucy by the blush on her cheeks and how quick she hides her phone. Wonders if she was making a little movie to store to the iCloud collection she’s made for him to use when he’s away. In fact, he’s damn certain that’s what he’s caught her doing because she’s blushing like crazy and she’s panting for breath.

But she’s still dressed in tight mom jeans and a loose blouse, and the belt around her waist is still secure… a titty video, perhaps? “What are you doing!” She squeals nervously and her high-pitched voice is what breaks him from his little inner monologue.

Harry raises a brow. “‘S m’room, too, y’know. More important question ‘ere is wha’ are _you_ doin’?” He presses, thick arms crossed over his broad chest and Y/N offers a nervous smile. She’s still got her hands crossed behind her back, vice grip on her phone.

He squints at her. “Nothing! Wasn’t doing anything,” she tries to sound nonchalant but Harry sees right through her. He hums through purses lips, head slightly tilted and he knows she’s holding her breath, waiting for him to turn around so she can stop pretending.

But he lunges for her and tackles her to the bed. A loud yelp slips from her parted lips as her back hits the mattress and Harry’s arms are wrapped around her back, wrestling her for the phone.

She’s quick, though; cradles the phone to her chest and manages to roll onto her stomach beneath the crushing weight of his body. Her face is pressed into the sheets, screams and giggles rumbling from her throat as he grabs at her sides, using a tactic he knows will loosen her vice.

“Jus’ lemme see,” he struggles out, grin on his lips and his tongue is poking the corner of his lips in concetration. He slips the phone from her grasp and jumps off the bed, using his Face ID to unlock the device.

Y/N jumps at him, clawing at his arm that he has extended in the air, giving her no chance of getting the phone back. He squints at the screen above him and a low belly laugh echoes through the room.

“Yeh been making TikTok’s? Tha’ wha’ yer boredoms come to?” he drops his arm and she snatches the phone back the second it’s within reach.

She’s got a deep blush on her cheeks and she’s curling into herself a little bit from embarrassment. Her phone is locked and clutched back to her chest again. Harry raises a brow, teasing smirk on his lips. “Yeh gonna show me it then?” He asks, brows raised expectantly and he nods back at the phone.

She whines and takes a step forward, her forehead hitting against his hard chest. “No, it’s embarrassing,” she admits through another whine, words muffled into the soft cotton of his white t-shirt.

Harry’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Lovie, ‘ve seen yeh pussy dripping with m’cum but yer embarrassed t’show me a fuckin’ TikTok?”

She feels her entire body ignite in flames and she whines louder into him, squeezing her eyes shut tight with a giddy smile on her lips. “Harry,” she groans grabbing a fist full of his shirt and he dips his face down to kiss her cheek, his lips hovering by her ear.

“Normally goes summat like tha’, yeah,” he breathes softly. She knows he’s teasing her on purpose, doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s got that smug smirk on those pink lips she loves so much.

“‘S’up t’you, though, babe. Yeh wanna show me the TikTok, or d’ya wan’ me t’ stuff yeh wi’ m’cum and watch it drip from yeh pussy?”


	7. Harry can't sleep without you.

Harry doesn’t know how it got to this point. He’s always been an independent person that craved intimacy and love but never _needed_ it. He’s always known he can count on his friends and family but always tried to count on _himself_ first. He’s always been able to sleep alone, but as he rolls around in his empty bed, limbs tangled in the silk sheets, he realises that tonight, for some bizzare reason, he can’t.

His gaze is fixed on the ceiling again, his hands clasped over his middle as he pats a beat against the back of his hands with his fingers. Harry gnaws softly at the inside of his cheek, tilting his head to look at his phone that sits on his nightstand. He catches sight of his alarm clock.

04:17AM.

He stares at his phone for a moment longer, debating whether or not he should do it. Pursing his lips, he lets out a deep breath through his nose and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the painted grooves in the ceiling.

He has to laugh at himself. It’s his first night sleeping alone in almost three weeks and now it’s like he doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know how to switch off without having his arms wrapped around her. Doesn’t know how to relax as his eyes close without feeling the weight of her head lay on his chest. Doesn’t know how to sleep without her rubbing small circles against the skin of his ribs with her fingertips.

He’s about to consider it again; calling her, when his phone lights up and gently illuminates the room. The vibrations of an incoming call sing against his nightstand and he reaches over, answering your call before it can ring a second time. “Hi, love,” he greets you gently, small smile hinting at his lips as he hears a breathy laugh.

“You answered that quick. Did I wake you? M’sorry, know it’s early,” you apologise quickly and he knows you’re pinching the bridge of your nose in guilt from the other side. He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “Yeh didn’t wake me, babe. Been up all night, can’t sleep,” he admits with a yawn and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank God—I mean, _not thank God that you can’t sleep, because that sucks and I can’t sleep either_ —just thank God that I didn’t wake you,” you ramble.

Harry’s soft laughter is what breaks you from your rant and a blush begins to sit on the apples of your cheeks. “Y/N, s’fine. Why can’t yeh sleep?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. Harry wonders if it’s for the same reason that he can’t. He hopes.

It’s silent for a moment and he knows you’re pondering whether you should tell him the truth or not. You might’ve only been together for six months, but he knows you better than you know yourself most times.

You shrug, closing your eyes when you remember he can’t see you. “Just miss you… and I know I saw you yesterday and we went for lunch and stuff… but it’s hard to fall asleep alone now,” you admit shyly.

Harry’s heart soars at the admission and he sits up in his bed, cheeks aching from his wide set smile. “‘Ave yeh got work tomorrow?” he asks and you hum, shaking your head. “No, ‘s my weekend off,” you tell him.

Harry jumps from his bed, shrugging on a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt on his dresser. “Take the chain off the door, be twenty minutes, babe,” he doesn’t give you chance to say anything else before he’s cutting off the call and you’ve got a silent phone against your ear.

You crawl out of bed, dressed in nothing but one of Harry’s t-shirts that just covers past your bum, and make your way through the flat to your front door to pull the chain off so he can let himself in.

Deciding against going straight back to bed, you make for the kitchen and flick on the kettle, taking two mugs out of the cupboard. You wander back to your room to retrieve your phone, but the second you sink back into the mattress, you don’t want to get back up and you’re throwing the blankets back over you as you snuggle into your pillow.

Your eyes are quick to flutter closed again and sleep is chasing up to you as you begin to fall into a light slumber. It’s only fifteen minutes later that Harry’s unlocking your front door with his key and kicking his shoes off on the rack.

The whole flat is dark but he doesn’t need a light to navigate his way to your bedroom, he knows the route blindly. He’s eager as he pushes your door open and strips from his last minute outfit, boxers on the floor too as he climbs in beside you.

Your eyes gently start to flutter open when you feel his legs tangle with yours and his arms pull you into his side. “Hi, baby,” you mutter through sleep-swollen lips and Harry cranes his neck slightly to kiss them tenderly.

“Hi, love,” he greets back, sinking further down the mattress so his face is level with yours. Your eyes are still closed, lips gently parted as he pulls away but he keeps watching you. Your hair is a mess, eyebrows spiked from you rubbing your face and there’s blemishes dotting your soft skin but Harry thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

He reaches up to push the hair from your face, kissing your lips softly again and in your sleepy state you still kiss back. “Think ‘m falling in love with yeh,” he whispers against your mouth and he can feel you smile against him.

“Think I’m falling in love with you, too,” you admit shyly, eyes fluttering open and you’re met with his glowing smile and somewhat glossy eyes.

Harry kisses your lips again. “Yeah?” he asks, nosing at your cheek. You giggle, shuffling close to him. “Yeah,” you reply, arms snaking around his shoulders to kiss his soft lips again.

There’s a lightness in the room as he lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around you middle. When your fingers find purchase in his wanton curls, his eyes begin to flutter closed. And maybe it’s from the weight of the confession off his chest, or the way your blunt nails are gently scratching at his scalp, but sleep finally comes peacefully to the both of you. 


	8. Harry confesses something he doesn't mean.

She’s seen him drunk plenty of times before. Been the one to race shots down her throat with him and later helping him sober up before morning. She’s seen him in a lot of states before, she supposes that’s just what comes with being his best friend.

_Best friend._

The thought causes a silent sad laugh to rumble in her stomach. She realised the sad truth that she’s in love with him almost a year ago. Realised that the butterflies in her stomach and blush on her cheeks are more than just shyness when she gets his full attention.

But in the year she’s known her feelings, she’s watched him have fling after fling, fuck after fuck, and come back to her in the mornings to gush about what position he had them in and how many times he made them cum with his fingers and mouth.

Tonight is a little different, though. He’s got his hands all over her, his lips pressing against every spot of her neck and his hands gripping every inch of her waist. It’s never been her beneath him in his bed, but tonight it is and she can’t believe it’s finally happening.

He’s palming at her chest beneath her shirt and tweaking her nipples deliciously. Y/N’s head is rolling back into the pillow, fingers tangled in his dark hair and she’s tugging generously at the locks.

Harry grunts into her neck, nosing up her jaw and smearing his lips against hers. “I‘m in love with yeh… love yeh, so fuckin’ much,” he admits breathlessly and she feels her heart leap in her heaving chest. She pulls his face back with both palms cupping his cheeks and scans his eyes.

He’s grinning adoringly at her, tip of his nose nuzzling against hers and she feels like she’s floating. “You are? I’m in love with you, too,” she confesses back, her admission a huge weight off her chest and he’s kissing her again, hard and tender.

And as quickly as it starts, it ends. They fall asleep in each other arms. She’s wearing her knickers and his shirt and he’s in just his boxers. It’s when the sun rises and he stirs from his slumber that his foggy mind is trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

It’s not his room and there’s the weight of a small woman on his side. He thinks he’s just had another one night stand that clearly wasn’t worth remembering. But he notices the hair colour and style and when he cranes his neck, he realises who’s half naked in his arms.

He leaps from the bed in shock, eyes wide and his sudden movement startles her awake. It’s when she stretches beneath the covers that he realises her outfit—or lack there of and he thinks the worst.

“Oh, shit,” he curses blindly, hands dragging down his tired face and he can’t deal with a headache this big. Y/N blinks away the slew and stares at him with furrowed brows, stuttering out a laugh. “Morning to you, too,” she says.

Harry’s eyes are still blown wide and he doesn’t understand how she’s being so nonchalant. They’ve never cuddled half naked before, never even shared a bed. Yes, they’re best friends and extremely close, but a situation has never arose where they’ve had to share a damn bed.

“Wha’ are yeh… oh _fuck_ , please tell m’ we didn’t… ye _know_ …” he gestures between them both and some sort of realisation begins to well in Y/N’s eyes. He doesn’t remember.

She shakes her head with a nervous laugh. “No, I mean we kissed a bit but that’s it… we just slept cuddling,” she explains, a faint smile on her face and Harry takes a deep breath.

She supposes it’s him coming to terms with the fact that they finally kissed and she knows how he feels. At least, that’s what she thinks.

There’s still panic on his face and he squeezes his eyes shut, taking another deep breath. “Did I like… _say_ anything t’ yeh tha’ I normally wouldn’t ‘ave said? Like I normally wouldn’t ‘ave kissed yeh,” he stares at her worry stricken face as a blush rises to her cheeks.

Y/N stifles a laugh. “I mean, you _did_ tell me that you’re in love with me,” she reminds him, teasing smile on her face and she expects him to grow bashful and throw himself on the bed, begging that he didn’t really admit it and that it’s okay if she doesn’t feel the same way.

She thinks he’s just forgotten them express their requited love.

But Harry doesn’t grow bashful and nervous. Instead, his hands are in his head and he’s groaning at himself. “‘M sorry. I say stupid shit when ‘m drunk like tha’ and ‘m sorry, tha’ must’ve been awkward fo’ yeh.” He apologises, rubbing at his face.

Y/N crawls across the bed, gentle smile on her lips and she’s about to tell him to stop worrying, that she’s in love with him too, but she stops in the middle of the bed when he looks at her with a careful look in his eyes that she can’t quite place.

“Why would it be awkward?” She asks with a slight tilt of her head. She thinks he’s gonna tell her he’s certain she doesn’t love him back, but he frowns at her like his reasoning is the most obvious thing and let’s out a soft laugh.

“‘Cause ‘m obviously no’ in love with yeh. Can’t imagine how awkward I’d feel if you told me you were in love wi’ me but I didn’t know you were jus’ chatting shit while yer drunk,” he laughs comically but Y/N feels her heart sunk to her stomach and she thinks she might be sick.

Her chest is tight and her head is spinning. She can physically feel the heartache in her fingertips and her entire body is buzzing in a numbing rage. She wants to cry, can feel her throat swelling but she doesn’t trust herself to say anything without breaking down.

She clears her throat and lets off an awkward laugh. _This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening_. She thought he meant it, thought her life was coming together, thought she’d finally feel loved. But it was all a lie.

He doesn’t love her.

“Oh yeah,” she mumbles, frown on her lips. Harry doesn’t see it, though. He’s too busy throwing another shirt on and shoving his legs in a pair of sweats.

Eveything feels numb when he looks back to her with the normal cheeky glimmer in his eyes and as she stares at his lips, she can feel them back on hers again, how they caressed her pout and offered her a sense of home and warmth.

She lets herself bask in the memory for as long as she can, because she knows she’ll never get it again. She lets the reality of the situation sink in. Lets it sink in that not only did he _not_ love her last night when he said he did, that not only does he _not_ love her now, but that he never _will_.

And she lets herself hurt. Hurt because the love of her life will never feel the same way, and she’s learned that in the most impossibly painful way. Because for a fleeting moment, she thought she knew what it felt like to be loved by him. But then the sun rose and so did the truth.

Now she prays to God he doesn’t one day remember what really happened that night.


	9. You and Dad!Harry take you four-year-old shopping for the day.

“Babe, we should go in there,” Harry said quietly in your ear, pointing to the lingerie boutique across the shopping centre. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, turning to give him the Mum Look and Harry bit back his grin.

“Yeah, that’ll look good… dragging a four-year-old in there, aye.”

Harry threw his hands up in face surrender but he still had the cocky smug look on his face. You both continued walking, Prim’s tiny hand in yours and she made a grabby motion in Harry’s direction. “Daddy, swing,” she chirped excitedly, reaching for her dads hand and Harry let her hold his slender fingers.

A giddy smile overtook his cocky smirk and on the count of three, you both raised your arms and swung your daughter off her toes. Primrose squealed in delight, laughing hysterically when she bounced back on her feet and saw that you were walking in the direction of the music store.

She’d always been fascinated by Harry’s guitars and other instruments in his little home studio, and he often found her slobbering over one of his mics as she belted out the mumbled words to his songs. She was his little rockstar, always dressed in a red tutu, bright green leg warmers and as many pearl necklaces of Harry’s that she could find. She’d wear your sunglasses and a random bandana in her hair, red lipstick smeared delicately across her lips and chin.

Harry opened the door to the shop and Primrose ran straight for the standing keyboard. Her chubby fingers hit at the keys excitedly as she looked for the correct ones to play the song Harry had been teaching her. Didn’t matter that she was only four, she knew how to play Twinkle Twinkle but this keyboard didn’t have numbers on the keys like her one did at home.

“Daddy, where’s the numbers?” She asked quizically, eyes squinted and head tilted. Harry crouched beside her and hummed in feign though, fingertips grazing the edges of the keys and he shrugged his shoulders, bumping his elbow gently against Prim’s side.

“Dunno. Maybe you’ve got the only numbered one in the whole world,” Harry whispered excitedly, your heart fluttering as Prim’s little eyes burned bright. She gasped out a giggle and danced a little on the spot, throwing her arms around Harry’s neck and pressing sloppy kisses across his face.

“Mummy,” she called out to you.

“Hm?” you replied, crouching down to her and Harry’s level and she wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you close so your nose almost bumped against Harry’s.

“Daddy loves me soooo much,” she whispered through a delightful squeal, her eyes creasing and Harry was certain his heart was about to explode. You nodded quick in agreement and smiled at your husband.

“He certainly does, and so does Mummy,” you kissed her cheek and tickled her belly as it rumbled, Harry blowing a raspberry on her arm and Primrose laughed maniacally, earning a side glare from the shop owner. Harry huffed but didn’t let his annoyance show, picking his girl up and somehow managing to haul her onto his back.

She clung to his neck and he held the back of her thighs. “Think we should go get some food, m’ little Princess is getting hungry,” he patted her bum gently and Prim hummed in agreement. “After food can we go home and you play me songs, Daddy?” she yawned from his back, laying her head on the top of his shoulder and you cooed at the sight.

Harry’s heart leapt. “Anything fo’ you, Primmy.”


	10. Quarantining with Dad!Harry and your bub.

Things have been more than a little upsidedown, to say the least. It’s not that you haven’t enjoyed spending time away from the world with your love and your baby, because you have. It’s not the fact that you haven’t been able to work well from home or read those books you’ve been meaning to, because you have.

It’s because as clingy as Harry has grown over the past week of the isolation, so has your daughter. It’s because you can’t seem to take a bath without hour little love calling your name or strolling in. It’s because whenever you put your earphones in to get some peace to yourself, she’s clambering on your lap to pull them out.

You can’t seem to figure out why. She hasn’t been clinging onto Harry the same way she has to you and although you’ve been in the same four walls as your husband, it feels like you’ve barely had a moment with him.

“Mama! No!” Adelaide squeaks when she notices you standing from the sofa to go to the bathroom. You stop in your tracks with a sigh and Harry’s head pops up from the book it’s been shoved in. He sees the slight pinch in your brows as you close your eyes.

He clears his throat. “Addie, Mama jus’ needs t’ go potty and she’ll be back,” he tries to reassure his three-year-old but her bottom lip is pouted out and her tiny arms are crossed over her tiny chest.

“I wanna go, too!” she demands with a stomp of her foot. You sigh again and turn to her. “Baby, why don’t you stay with Daddy? I’ll be two minutes,” you try to convince her but as you take another step, Addie squeals again and leaps for your legs.

“No, Mummy, no! Don’t want the monsters to get you,” she sobs violently into your calf. Your wide eyes meet Harry’s and it’s as if everything suddenly makes sense. Harry pushes his book to the side and sits at the edge of the sofa, prying Adelaide off your legs as you sit beside him and pull her sideways across your lap, her toes wiggling against Harry’s bare knees.

“What monsters, bubby? Yeh know they’re no’ real,” he says tenderly as his wide hand covers the expanse of her small stomach in an attempt to jiggle her belly like she usually finds amusing.

Adelaide shakes her head and cowers into your chest. “They are, Daddy! I saw them in my dreams and they got Mummy!” she shrills; her words slightly muffled and slurred. You frown at her words and look back to Harry, who frowns just as hard.

“ ‘S only a dream, pet. Mummy’s fine, look,” he coos her, scratching gently at your shoulder and she peers up at you with watering eyes. “Yeh know Daddy would never let anything ‘appen t’ yeh or Mummy.” He gazes up at you after his declaration, and while you’ve heard it so many times before, and even seen him practice what he preaches, this time, it hits something deep inside you that just wants to hold him.

“Then you go with her, Daddy!” she demands arms crossed over her little chest again and Harry raises a brow in amusement. He sees the girls logic and turns to you with a slight crease in his forehead. You shake your head.

“Adelaide, I’m a big girl, okay? Mummy can go to the toilet on her own. There are no monsters, bubby. I promise.”

But nothing soothes the girl until she sits on the counter by the sink and watches you thoroughly as you pee. It couldn’t just be that, though. The second you sat on the toilet she called Harry in _just in case_. You wish you felt some sense of discomfort peeing in front of them both, but you don’t.

Your dignity flew out the window long ago, seemingly.

It continued for the rest of the day. You weren’t allowed to leave the room without her and whenever you sat beside Harry or leaned across the sofa to give him a kiss, she pushed you both apart to remind you to keep your distance.

_“But you’re not keeping your distance, you’re sitting on Mummy.”_

_“Cos I’m only little and I need Mummy’s hugs and kissies.”_

_“Well, I need Mummy’s hugs and kissies, too!”_

Adelaide had you curled in her toddler bed until she fell asleep. When you do finally crawl out of her bed and close her bedroom door, you find Harry on the sofa, cuddling Addie’s teddy close to his chest like he usually does to you.

You watch him silently from your spot in the doorway. His words have been playing on your mind all day. _Yeh know Daddy would never let anything ‘appen t’ yeh or Mummy._ Maybe it’s because you finally had sex for the first time in three months the other day and it woke something up inside you, or maybe it’s because you just love hearing Harry’s protective side.

Either way, in just his top and a pair of short cotton shorts, you pad your way over to the sofa and pry the bear out of his sleepy hold. The lack of cuddle partner causes his eyes to stir open and he rubs his eyes, blinking away the sleepiness.

“Her Royal Highness is finally sleeping,” you tell him with a soft sigh. Harry sits up, gruffly mumbling something incoherent and his hand reaches forward to brush the smooth skin of your thighs.

That’s what got him the other night. You waxed your legs.

He spreads his legs just enough to tug you between them, your hands finding purchase in his growing hair. He kisses your lower tummy, thumbs gentle grazing across the fainted stretch marks that adore the slightly saggier skin. He’s got a smile on his face as he kisses a deep one.

Harry gnaws on his bottom lip and grabs the backs of your thighs. You fall in his lap with a quiet squeal, straddling him as your hands rest on his broad shoulders. You squint your eyes at the hint of mischief shimmering in his.

“What?” You ask cautiously, head tilted as he continues to suckle on his bottom lip.

“Wanna put another baby in yeh,” he says cheekily, wiggling his brows suggestively and he’s half expecting you to smack his arm and tell him no, that it’s too early.

But you don’t. You grin just as wide, the idea of Harry stuffing you so full like he had last time, promising you he was putting a baby in you, praising you for milking him dry.

Sex has never been boring with Harry, the complete opposite, actually. But there’s something incredibly exciting and sexy about making a baby with Harry. You hum and trail your fingers up his neck to play with the hairs at the back of his head. “Yeah?” You ask, brow raised.

He hums, staring down at your lips with a smirk. You know what’s running through his head. The same thing that’s running through yours. _It isn’t safe to have another baby right now. We don’t know how long this situation is going to last. Trying for a baby is not a priority._

“Think while we’re in quarantine, it’s the best time to practice,” you offer, his smirk growing. “You know, make sure you can stuff me just right,” you whisper innocently in his ear. Harry’s grip on your waist tightens and he lifts you as he stands, your legs wrapping around his middle.

He’s groping deliciously at your ass as he carries you to the bedroom, settling you down on the bed with a bounce as he closes the door and tears his jumper off his body and shrugs off his gum shirts. His cock is leaking, a yummy shade of pink and you can feel wetness pool between your thighs.

“Let’s start practising tonight then.”


	11. Doctor!Harry comes home after a gruelling day and you take care of him.

You heard it in his voice when he called to say he was on his way home, how raw and spread he sounded. Harry had left for his shift at 5 that morning and it was now almost 1 am the next day and you’d only really spoken to him for a few minutes on his lunch break before he got called back on the floor again.

The moment he got off the phone and said he was leaving the hospital, you ran him a bubble bath and let it cool a little while rustling up some homemade soup and cleaning the apartment. Twenty minutes later and he was shuffling through the door, bags under his eyes and his skin seem discoloured and aged.

You pouted when you saw him saunter into the kitchen, eyes gloomy and his shoulders sagged. “‘m okay, love. Jus’ a little tired, is all,” he told you, leaning closer to press a tender kiss to your forehead and you wrapped your arms around his middle, snuggling into his chest.

You hated the hospital smell his scrubs brought home but right then, all you wanted was him in your arms. After Harry ate his soup and almost dropped his head in the bowl after his eyes began fluttering closed, you dragged him to the bathroom and helped him strip from his clothes. He stood in his all naked glory, gazing down at you with a slight from.

“You gonna join me? Don’t think I’ll b’ able t’ stay awake if ‘m in there on my own,” he admitted through a tired mumble. You hummed as your lips pouted out again and you raised to your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as you finished lighting a few more candles and rid yourself of your leggings and jumper. You got in the bath first, spreading your legs just enough and in the small tub, Harry climbed in and sunk down in front of you, his back pressed against your naked chest and he hummed at the warmth of the water relaxing his incredibly tense muscles.

You both sat back and sighed in unison, eyes fluttering closed and the candles casted an orange hue over the dark room. Harry turned his head to rest it just below your shoulder and in the water, he reached for your hands; intertwining your fingers and wrapping them around his middle and he snuggled himself into your hold.

Sharing baths was something you both did regularly to unwind. Despite your tub barely fitting you both, you made it work and laying so close together, so vulnerable, was so lovely. You always felt safe in Harry’s arms and he’d hold you so close while you simmered in the heat—much like you were holding him.

“You know, ya too good f’ me, sometimes,” Harry muttered, straining his neck just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. A blush rose to your cheeks and you rubbed your cheek against his head of insanely luscious hair, tilting around to kiss his temple and giving his middle a little squeeze.

“Just love you a lot,” you responded with a loving smile, despite knowing he couldn’t see your face. Harry hummed, nodding ever so slightly and squeezing your hands back. “Love you loads, too.”


	12. You're an actress and Harry's super supportive.

Harry’s fucking gleaming, smile wide on his lips as he looks at the screen behind him. The interview is supposed to be about his upcoming tour, but Ellen threw in a few questions about you and your new movie, asking if he’s proud and how he feels about your sex scene.

On the large screen behind him, there’s a still clip of you in a pretty black lingerie set, a dark, short wig on your head and bright red stains on your lips. An action movie is a far stretch from what you’ve worked in before, but he also knows it’s been your favourite. 

“Isn’t she jus’ so beautiful,” he beams proudly, looking from the crowd to the still again and Ellen swoons at his soft words as the audience coos. She nods in agreeance. “She is, very beautiful. Are you proud of her with this project? Pretty different from her other movies,” she notes.

Harry can’t help but nod his head quickly, his smile spreading wider and his cheeks are starting to ache but it doesn’t stop him. “So proud. ‘ve seen the movie already, and she’s a bloody badass in it! So so proud of her,” he gushes, heart eyes and fat grin.

His enthusiasm for your talent is contagious and Ellen is agreeing again. “I’ve seen a few clips and I can’t wait to see the whole thing! But I have heard that there’s a bit of an X Rated scene in there?” she digs, nodding back to the picture on the screen and Harry can replay the whole clip back in his head just from looking at the still. 

He nods, smile not faltering. “Yeh, she’s badass in that bit, too. Bit sexy, t’ be honest, Ellen,” he admits bashfully, fanning himself in a playful manner and the crowd are loving this unreserved version of him. Her eyes widen and she grins too. 

“Sexy? So you’re not jealous or a bit protective about it?” she asks.

Harry’s silent for a second. “Way I look at it is, ‘s her body, her say. Course ‘m a bit protective over ‘er, but I’m prouder, more than anythin’. She’s bloody incredible at wha’ she does and I’d never do or say anythin’ to stop her or sway her from making an important decision about her career. She’s only ever encouraged and supported me through mine, so I’ll always do the same fo’ her.”

Ellen opens her mouth to say something, but he’s already talking again. “The talent she has is so raw and rare. And ‘m not jus’ saying that ‘cause she’s m’ girlfriend and I love her with all m’ heart. I’m saying it ‘cause it’s true and she’s so genuine and thankful to be where she is. She puts every ounce of her being and more into every role she plays–no matter how big or small it is. She’ll go out of her way to research certain characteristics her character is said to portray, jus’ so she can channel them better and sorta like, harness it t’ her emotions. She’s incredible. So fu– so _bloody_ incredible. And ‘m so proud.”


	13. Harry helps Y/N through a seizure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: tw sezuires

She’s got a lot of signs that make appearances when she gets overly stressed and everything becomes a bit too overwhelming. First, she loses focus of things, feels like she’s blinking in and out of reality and blankness. Then, typically, she gets a runny nose and an abnormal amount of spit begins to salivate in her mouth. 

It’s when she seconds from having the actual seizure that the activity gets worse, more noticeable. Her jaw locks and she loses feeling her tongue as her body starts to plank rigidly. She’s had enough of them to know her tells and how to prepare herself for a spontaneous attack. 

Tonight is one of those spontaneous ones. She’s been stressed all week with trying to submit her paperwork but her laptop has been continuously crashing and her and Harry keep butting heads. She’s been too caught up in work and he’s been too bitter about having to wait to be patient anymore.

Y/N figures the sooner she finishes her work, the longer she’ll have to relax with Harry. Harry figures she’d rather bury her face in her laptop that have a cuddle and watch a movie with her fiancé. They’re getting aggy and making little digs for no reason other than to piss the other off.

Y/N had been out this morning for their top up shop; getting in the essentials. She came home and the kitchen was still a state and Harry was sat on the sofa with a hand in his pants while he watched some stupid YouTube tutorial on how to knit.

She’d asked him to put the shopping away while she quickly showered but by the time she got back in the living room, the bags of shopping were still by the door and Harry was still on his phone.

Then he made himself lunch and didn’t offer to make her any. Usually, she wouldn’t be bothered, but for some reason, today it got to her. Maybe it’s because he’s been blanking her since she told him she wants to focus on submitting her paperwork and replying to emails, or maybe it’s because she shrugged him off for sex last night.

Either way, the stress of that and then the stress of her work has gotten a little much. She’s rubbing her temples as Harry moans about her not having time to cook dinner with him tonight and she can feel her jaw begin to lock. Panic starts settling in when she tries to shout his name but she can’t feel her tongue, effectively rendering her a mumbling mess.

Harry’s ranting still, voice raising because she’s not answering him back and he’s starting to see red. They haven’t had an argument this bad in a long time and when it’s a bad one, things are thrown and nasty words are said.

“Don’t see what’s so fuckin’ important ‘bout your job! Not asking fo’ a lot. Not hard t’ fuckin’ make a bit of dinner with me or jus’ t’ have a cuddle. Christ, Y/N! You can be such a bitch sometimes,” he’s seething, scratching at his head and tutting.

Tears are stinging in her eyes and he’s about to go again when she musters up all the energy she can to smack her hand against the table and gain his attention. He turns to her with dark eyes and a locked jaw but the second he notices the distant look on her face and the way her head is swaying and her body planks, he breaks.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, rushing to her side to reach for her hand and he encourages her to lock her fingers around his. “S’okay, love. You’re okay, jus’ keep listening t’ me, yeah?” He coos in a gentle tone, kneeling beside her and his thumb strokes across her knuckles.

Her head rolls back and she blinks in and out of reality, legs twitching and Harry’s tender voice fades in and out of her ears. She’s falling down the chair a little from her small jolts of movements and shakes and Harry quickly lays himself on the floor and breaks her fall when she slips from the chair.

His hand is tucked beneath her head and she starts to come out of it, seconds ticking in Harry’s mind as he silently times it. Y/N wiggles her jaw and rolls her tongue as she comes out of the seizure, fingers twitching as he holds her hand a little tighter.

“S’okay, you’re okay. Doin’ so well fo’ me, love. Jus’ breath and listen t’ my voice,” he guides her back into a recovering state and her body is no longer rigid, but limp against his hold. He brushes her hair from her face, heart stammering because no matter how many times he’s helped her through an episode, it never gets easier to watch her in such a state.

“I’m okay,” he hears her mumble in a croaky tone, swallowing dryly and offering his hand a weak squeeze. He lets her lay for a couple of minutes until he knows she’s properly out of her epileptic state. “I’m okay,” she repeats, a little louder and lighter this time and Harry believes it.

He pulls her into his side and kisses her forehead, rubbing a hand soothingly up her back. “‘m sorry, love,” he apologises in a gentle tone and she shakes her head, sleepy. “I’m sorry, too. All yours now, no more work today,” she caves. Y/N knows her limits and after having a seizure while working, she knows not to pick up her laptop until at least the next day.

Harry nods, nuzzling his cheek against her hair. “Wanna go lay in bed and I’ll order us in some pasta or summat?” he tries to convince her. He knows pasta is her comfort food and while she loses an appetite after a seizure, it’s also important for her to eat a little while after.

She nods against his chest and kisses lazily at his throat. “Yes, please.” Y/N is scooped up into his arms as he carries her to their bedroom. He tucks her into their bed and kisses her cheek before leaving to grab his phone. Before he orders the food, he documents the seizure in the little notes page he’s created for them and returns to her, slipping in beside her.

Y/N rolls into his side and lays her head on his chest. “Thank you, love you,” she mumbles sleepily. Harry lets off a relieved little laugh and scratches at her scalp softly. “I love you, too. And you don’t have t’ thank me, baby. Always gonna take care of ya.”


	14. Harry helps pregnant!Y/N shave her coochie.

Y/N’s always been one to shave. She’s never had anything against her pubic hair, she just prefers it gone or very minimal. Too much is too uncomfortable and irritating for her. Since she’s been pregnant, however, it’s been a little harder to shave.

At first, it was okay, hardly had any issues with getting to the nooks and crannies, but now she’s seven months along and can barely see her little coochie even with a little mirror.

She’s standing in the shower, huffing and puffing as she lifts her leg to stand on the edge of the tub. She’s managed to shave across her pubic bone, leaving her feeling smooth but she can’t reach or see her folds and the junctions between her pussy and her thighs.

She’s been in there a while and Harry’s growing desperate for a wee. He doesn’t bother knocking on the door, only opening it and announcing his presence. She’s hidden behind the shower curtain but as he takes a piss, he can hear her grunts and whines of frustrations.

His mind goes straight to the gutter. “You gettin’ yourself off in there, love?” he queries, flushing the chain and washing his hands at the sink beside the bath. She groans again and the shower curtain flies open.

“I’m trying to shave but I can’t see! And I even have a mirror,” she shoves it in his face, “I can’t see with that either! My fanny’s doing my fucking head in!” she rants through gritted teeth, disappearing behind the shower curtain again and Harry’s left stunned for a little bit.

He opens the curtain again, watching as she props her leg back on the tub. “Wha’ ya shaving for? Ya know I’m not bothered if you shave or not, love,” he reminds her softly, his hair dampening from the heat of the shower and she scoff, smacking her thigh in annoyance. 

“I’m not shaving for _you_ , H. The hair’s irritating me and it’s annoying, I don’t like it!” she’s whining frustratedly, close to crying and he knows it’s because her hormones are so heightened. He coos her softly and pinches the razor from between her fingers, twisting her slowly so he’s eye level with her partly shaved core. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” she mumbles through a sniffle. Her nipples have pearled now her chest isn’t directly beneath the water and she’s got goosebumps riddled across her stretched skin.

“I’m jus’ helping. I’ll get the bits you can’t reach,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulder. Y/N’s eyes gape out of their sockets and she slaps his hand away, instinctively closing her legs. 

Through her pregnancy, she’s hardly been insecure about the changes of her body; actually loving the way she’s thickened up and the swell of her belly. They’ve had plenty of sex through the pregnancy, too. Y/N’s hormones have been on overdrive and Harry can’t say no to her. But sex is a little different to shaving your fiancé’s pussy. 

“What? No! You’re not gonna shave my--” her eyes bulge as she gestures down to her core and Harry shakes his head, kissing her knee. “‘S not like I haven’t seen it before, love. Actually have your little cunt memorised,” he grins from ear to ear and Y/N places her hands on the sides of her belly, telling him to watch his language. 

He notices her apprehension about the idea and reaches for her hand soothingly. “Don’t have to if you really don’t wan’ me to. Jus’ wanna help and it’s only me, love.” He reassures her, eyes patient as she stares at him and gnaws on her inner cheek.

She rolls her shoulders and clears her throat, nodding with eyes clenched shut. She’s already conditioned the area so she allows Harry to get comfy and lift her leg to the bathtub again. “Okay, jus’ relax,” he coos. 

He parts her thighs, free hand pressed on her pubic bone and he pulls the skin taut before swiping the razor down her fold. He doesn’t need to look at her face to know she’s bright red from the closeness. Harry rinses the razor under the water and shakes it off, making another swipe and repeating the process.

He takes his time, getting every little hair he can reach and when he’s about to go a little further back, to the bit of skin between her two holes, she shudders and knocks her knees together, shoving him off. His eyes are wide in alert, worried he might’ve hurt her as he studies her face.

“Wha’? Did I hurt ya?” he asks softly, kissing at her kneecap and she shakes her head with a scoff. “No, just didn’t really want you shaving that bit between,” she admits a little bashfully, embarrassment coating her pink skin and he lets off a giggle. 

“Had my face buried in your cunt and your ass, but you won’t let me shave your lady gooch?” he jokes in a teasing tone, loving the way she squirms and covers her face in the palms of her hands. She’s burning through a blush as Harry rises back to his feet and pulls her hands away.

He brushes his nose against hers and envelops her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “All done, love. Now hurry up so we can finish watching The Notebook.” 


	15. Harry calls Y/N annoying during an argument.

He’s been tearing his hair out for over an hour now, pacing back and forth outside their bedroom door and his feet are surely burning holes on the oak floors of the hall. “Baby, please. Just let me in, please,” he chokes out weakly. He knows what he said was wrong and fuck, does he wish he could take it all back. 

Arguments are few and rare between him and Y/N, but when they occur, they’re ugly and big and everything a failing relationship looks like. Sometimes it takes days for them to both stop being so stubborn and to talk things out. But never once has she locked herself away from him. 

Then again, never once has he brought up something so cruel to her during one of their quarries. Never once has he toyed with her insecurities and brought them to an ugly head. 

_Never once has he called her clingy and annoying._

The argument had fallen immediately after the words slipped from his lips and he noticed the tears that began to well in her eyes. All he could do was watch her nod her pretty little head solemnly before locking herself away quietly in the bedroom. 

He feels sick with himself, if he’s honest. He didn’t fucking mean it. He knows how much she worries she’s too clingy or being annoying. He knows that past lovers have told her such, when in reality, she’s just a touchy, affectionate person. Just like him.

He knows she worries that sometimes she comes off too strong or too eager. He knows sometimes she’s reluctant to cuddle him and pepper his face in kisses in fear of him telling her to stop, that she’s annoying him. He’s never given her reason to think he’d ever snap, but she still worried.

Now, her mind is in shambles and she can’t stop crying. She’s piled under blankets and pillows in their bed – cheeks blotchy and sticky with salty tears. She’s past the stage of hyperventilating and struggling for breath. She’s past the part where her hurt is sinking to her feet and she can taste bile on her tongue.

She’s past it all and now she just feels sad. Sad because his seething words have made her feel unworthy of his love and attention. Sad because now she’s comparing her clingy and annoying self to all of his past lovers. Sad because now she’s comparing herself, she’s stuck in this deep hole of self pity and hatred. 

“Babe, c’mon,” he coaxes again.

She knows he’s pacing, can hear his socks shuffling across the floor and the staggered breaths behind the door. Y/N might be busy locking herself away in a solitary of pity and doom, but she’s well aware of her surroundings still, too.

She can hear his sniffles and she knows he feels guilty, but it hurts and she feels embarrassed. She never thought he’d ever actually say something like that to her and she doesn’t know what’s worse. Facing him to hear him apologise and see him upset, or ignoring him and waiting until morning when things will undoubtedly be ten times worse. 

The thing is, deep down, she knows he doesn’t mean it and he never well. Deep down, she knows Harry is just the same as she is. He craves touch and affection and love. She knows he’d have his hands on her every second of every day if he could – even just to hold her hand or have her rest her head on his shoulder. 

She also knows that she won’t be able to stomach this in the morning: of having to sleep without him and face him in the light of day where things will feel forced and awkward. She knows he’ll beat himself up all night and if she’s honest, she just wants him to hold her. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, y’know I don’t think tha’ about you,” he apologises again. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to hear him say those two words again, doesn’t wanna hear them slip from his lips so soon. 

Y/N crawls out of bed, bunching up the long sleeve of her (his) top over her fists and wiping her eyes. Harry’s so busy pacing he almost doesn’t hear her unlock the bedroom door until it’s creaking open. 

She’s swallowed in the pitch darkness of the room and the dim light that offers warmth in the hall is gently cast over her. He can see the stains on her cheeks and the shallow puddles in her eyes. He sees her bottom lip quiver and he makes for her, wrapping his body around hers. 

Y/N’s got her face smushed in his chest, gentle sobs raking her body again and he rubs her back, cooing comfortingly in her ear. “I’m so sorry, didn’t mean it. Love, could never mean it,” he swears, his own tears blinking down his cheeks. She shakes her head in his hold and takes a step back, wiping her face again.

When she looks up at him, she can see the guilt and self-loathing plastered over his face and drowning out his gorgeous green eyes. She shakes her head again and sniffles, waving out her hands before reaching for his and intertwining their fingers. 

“S’okay, I know you didn’t mean it. Just got to me a bit,” she admits, gnawing on the inside of her cheek – nostrils flared. He nods, biting back a sob that desperately wants to claw its way out of his throat. Harry swallows it back and tries to blink away the tears.

When he fails, Y/N reaches up and brushes them away for him, leaning on her tip toes to pucker her chapped lips against his damp ones. “I love you, so much. Never gonna say anything like tha’ t’ ya ever again, baby. Fuckin’ swear it.”

She nods, doesn’t need to say anything. He knows she knows it’s the truth. He kisses her a little harder when she goes to pull away; cups her swollen cheeks in the palms of his slightly trembling hands and his nose bumps against hers. 

“D’you wan’ me to run us a bath and we can cuddle fo’ a bit and chill out?” he asks against her lips in a gentle whisper. She nods shyly, arms wrapping around his middle as he smoothes matted hair from her face. 

She knows he’s not just doing it to make her happy – knows that sharing baths after these kinds of arguments are everything Harry needs. Needs to feel her close to him, feel her skin on his and have her pressed to his body so he knows she won’t disappear. Y/N supposes that after so long, she’s grown attached to it, too.

“Yes, please.”


	16. Friends-to-lovers Harry and Y/N in quarantine.

The last four weeks have been heavenly torture. Harry had just gotten back to London when things started to change. He was supposed to be staying with you for two weeks while the designers and builders finished off his home, but five days into staying with you, the lockdown was put in place and Harry’s double mansion wasn’t considered a priority to finish.

You’ve enjoyed his company, probably more than you’ll admit, but it’s been hard. Harry’s always been a close and affectionate person to his friends, and though you’ve known him for roughly three years now, you’re still not exactly used to the friendly advances.

You don’t mind them, of course. If anything, you welcomed them a little more than other friends do. You just wish your tiny brain would stop looking too deep into the lingering hugs and platonic forehead kisses.

You know it’s just his affectionate side and that he doesn’t have underlying feelings for you, like you him, but over the past four weeks, you’ve seen a much rawer side to him that you or any of your friends really ever have before.

Harry’s gotten comfortable staying in your cosy flat. He’s enjoying the box spare room he’s occupying and the open spaced kitchen/diner/lounge. He likes knowing you’re always in view to him, that he just has to turn his head and you’ll be perched somewhere doing whatever.

But maybe he’s gotten a little _too_ comfortable. Harry’s been opting for lounging around your London flat in nothing but a pair of loose fitted shorts but you’re no better; prancing around in sheer shirts with no bra and tiny shorts underneath.

Maybe you’ve both been doing it on purpose, trying to coax a reaction out of the other but you’re both way too stubborn to cave. There’s something there, though. You may be stubborn but neither of you are dumb.

There’s palpable tension in the air wherever you both walk; whether you’re watching a movie or eating dinner — you both feel it. Just like you both feel the itching need to act on whatever silent feelings are being thrown around in the air. 

Tonight is like any other that Harry has been locked in with you. You’re both in minimal clothing and wondering if the other has done it to try and seduce you. Neither of you act on anything until the lights go out and the heaters stop. 

In a matter of seconds, you’re swarmed in darkness and jumping in Harry’s lap with a shrill cry. He jolts at the impact of your weight forced on his, but he wraps an arm around you in a protective manner, none the less. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Really? A powercut?” you seethe into his chest and Harry can’t help the rumble of laughter that rattles in his firm chest. You’re blushing against him as he pets your hair down and tries to coo you through his laughs.

You groan and snuggle deeper into his chest. “Don’t make fun of me, I hate powercuts,” you whine childishly but Harry thinks it might just be the most adorable thing he’s ever heard you say. He’s suddenly very aware of your close proximities and when you pull away from him, the urge to kiss you is hitting him smack in the face.

You’re no better, especially not when you can feel his hardening length prod at your thigh. It’s suddenly very onbious that you’re about to cross the invisible line of freidnship and something more but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. 

His lips are on yours in the matter of seconds and your fingers are tangling in his curls as you tug and pull and splutter into the kiss. “Shouldn’t we go to the bedroom?” you ask breathlessly, body on fire and you can feel your panties dampening at the idea of what’s to come. 

Harry growls as he flips you both over, suckling on your bottom lip while rolling his lips against yours – laying between your parted thighs. “No point, not when I can taste ya jus’ fine here.”


	17. Quarantine is boring, Harry lets Y/N colour his tattoos.

She’s been clinging to him all day; arms around his biceps and legs linking with his as they lounge on the sofa. They’ve been watching The Maze Runner trilogy, Y/N’s choice and she’s even gone as far as latching onto his back whenever he gets up to make them a snack or something to drink.

He doesn’t mind, of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t seen her for three months and after they both isolated for two weeks, she finally moved in with him for the remainder of lockdown and the whole situation doesn’t seem so glum to them anymore.

They’ve been craving each others presence for ages. Even before lockdown was set, they hadn’t seen each other in weeks because Harry was so busy with being in the studio and having interviews lined up, and Y/N was too busy with work before she was made furlough to work from home.

But now she’s got him in her arms and she’s not ready to let go. She’s been clinging to him since she moved in three days ago and Harry is loving every second of his girl being latched onto his body in any way she possibly can.

They’re well into the second movie when he feels her start to trace his tattoos with the featherlight touch of her fingertips. A small, sleepy smile plays on his face. She’s got her head on his naked chest, his body only adored in a pair of tight boxers and some kiwi socks, her breath fanning across his clavicle as she follows the lines of his butterfly, just below the sparse dusting of hairs on his chest.

“I love your tattoos.” Her voice is a little raspy, gruff from not using it in a few hours but he loves it, nonetheless. Harry gives her shoulder an appreciative squeeze, craning his neck down to kiss her temple before he settles back to watch the film.

He’s got her lodged between the back of the sofa and the side of his body, dressed in a pair of shorts and one of his old Rolling Stones tops and he never wants to let her go. He hears her mumble something back against his warm skin, can feel her lashes fluttering across his nipple as she awaits his response.

“Wha’?” His voice is deep as he asks her to repeat what she said and Y/N doesn’t try to hide the way she clenches her thighs shut. “I said—“ she mumbles, sitting up to lean on her elbow and she lets a hand reach for his face, her fingers slinking through his gorgeous curls. “They’d look cute if they had colour.”

He raises a brow. “Y’don’t think they look cute as they are?” He’s teasing and she knows it but Y/N rolls her eyes anyway and plasters a lazy kiss to his puffy pink lips. “They’re _sexy_ now,” she grins into him, hand squeezing the muscle of his bicep and his ego inflates to twice it’s size.

Harry lets a hand trail down her back soothingly, has it rest at the swell of her ass where it meets the dip of her back. He trails a little lower and offers a good squeeze. “Thought ya liked sexy?” His breath is hot on her face and she can’t help the shudder that rolls through her body.

As much as she’s not opposed to a little bit of hot and heavy sexy time, that’s not what she was actually after in the first place. “I do, and I want _all the sexy_ later but right now…” she pulls back to re-situate and plops herself on his lower stomach, “I want to colour your tattoos.”

He quirks a brow again, amused smirk on his lips as he pulls his head back, structured chin morphing to one of a double as Y/N hovers over his face. Harry tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “With tha’ face you can do whatever ya fuckin’ want t’ me.” He grins wickedly, her eyes lighting up.

It takes her a mere two minutes to jump up from his lap and find some markers before she’s running back and sitting on his lower stomach, a cheesy smile adoring her lips.

He watches her uncap the purple marker with her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, brows knitted softly in concentration. He squirms at the feel of the wet tip scratching across his midsection but she grazes then pen over his skin lightly and with her spare hand, tugs the skin taut just a little.

“Any preferred colour you’d like today, sir?” She asks with a raise of her brow. There’s a professional look on her face but he sees the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. He decides to feed into it. “Hmm,” he hums in feign thought. “Think ya should just go wi’ whatever you think. Y’er the artist, ain’t ya.”

In an hours time, she’s coloured every nook of every tattoo he has. He’s walking through the kitchen with a multicoloured arm and torso, sleepy smile on his face from how tired the bit of attention got him.

Y/N is sitting at the dining table, eyes gleaming with love at the sight of him as he starts to brown the mince meat for dinner. She’s all heart eyes when he leans back just a little to turn on the hob — his torso stretching deliciously and she doesn’t think she can take it anymore.

She makes her way behind him, arms wrapping around his middle as the side of her cheek meets the skin of his warm back, just between his shoulder blades. Harry smiles at his loves affection, cheeks a little pink and he feels her give him a little squeeze.

“You know, soon it won’t be me colouring in your tattoos.” Her muffled voice speaks behind him and Harry lets his brows knit at her words. He turns in her grasp and lets his hands wrap around her back, looking down with glistening eyes and she leans up to brush his hair from his forehead.

“Wha’?” He’s got a grin on his lips — one that suggests he knows what she’s talking about and he raises a brow, cocking his head to the side. Y/N nods, lips pursed to contain a fat grin and Harry can’t help but beam at her.

“Really?” He’s cheesing hard, open-mouthed smile and squinted eyes. She nods again, reaching around her back for his hands and she guides them around her body and to her belly.

“Really.”


End file.
